


The Crucible of Life

by bizzybee



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Casphardt Mini Bang (Fire Emblem), Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Part Epistolary, cannot stress enough that this has a HAPPY ending!, opposite sides
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27697829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizzybee/pseuds/bizzybee
Summary: Caspar von Bergliez's list of things that never change: The sun will rise in the east, the dining hall will serve saghert and cream on Thursdays, and he and Linhardt will never part ways.Caspar was wrong.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38
Collections: Casphardt Minibang 2020





	The Crucible of Life

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a part of the 2020 Casphardt Minibang! I had the honor of working with Marty (@gghero_), whose art piece can be found at the end of this fic. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

They had never promised that they were going to stay together forever, but then, Caspar thinks, they never needed to. 

He has few memories of his early childhood, of the years before he met Linhardt at the bright age of six. None of them stick out - in fact, as far as Caspar is concerned, his life didn’t start until Linhardt came into it. 

It’s like his first six years happened in a haze, life in grayscale until the first time he saw that shock of green hair. 

And now it’s been ten years. Ten years of playing in the gardens of Enbarr, of visiting each other’s estates, of taking naps under trees and splashing through lakes. 

Nothing is ever going to change.

* * *

"Linhardt! You're transferring to  _ Golden Deer _ ?" 

Ugh. Linhardt's much too tired to deal with this right now. He groans, slowly peeling his face from the page of the book it's planted on. Caspar's eyes are wide, his face in shock as he stares down at him. 

"Yes," says Linhardt. He yawns, brushing strands of sticky hair out of his face. "I'm transferring."

"But why?" Caspar's being much too loud for the library. Linhardt knows this, and he's sure Caspar would know it, too, if he weren't so consumed by his shock at the moment. 

Linhardt blinks. "Professor Byleth asked me to. So I did." In truth, it was a bit more complex than that, but Linhardt is having a hard time parsing out his feelings on that for even himself. 

Caspar seems to be buying it, though, if the shock on his face is any indication of that. 

"Really, Caspar," says Linhardt, stifling a yawn. "It's not as though it's that big of a deal. People transfer classes all the time. Didn't Ashe join the Black Eagles earlier this year? Perhaps someone from the Golden Deer will join the Blue Lions. I have always loved when things come full circle." 

Caspar plants himself in the seat across from Linhardt, hard. "But I'm still in Black Eagles," he says, as if that's obvious. 

"Yes," Linhardt nods. "You are." 

Caspar frowns, staring down at the table. 

"Look, Caspar," Linhardt says, giving up on not making a scene. "We'll still see each other during meals and after class. It's not as though you need me there, right?" 

He knows he's made a mistake as soon as Caspar flinches. 

Throughout his life, Linhardt has never much cared if he offends anyone. He knows he can be rude sometimes, but he's always believed in telling the truth, even if the truth is blunt and hard to hear. 

The exception to this rule, in fact, the exception to most rules Linhardt has, is Caspar. Linhardt tries to tell himself it's because Caspar gets the most desolate look on his face when he's sad, somewhere between a kicked puppy and a yowling cat, all big eyes and wobbling lip. He knows deep down, though, that it's not just that. 

And there's another rule Caspar breaks. More of an unofficial one, really, but a rule nonetheless: Linhardt does not like to feel things. His walls are nice and tall, thank you very much, and he has no desire to let anyone past them. 

But when Caspar looks up at him, blue eyes brimming with tears, nose threatening to sniffle, the walls crumble as though they're made of nothing more than dust. 

"I guess," Caspar says, and hiccups, "I guess I can sit next to Dorothea." 

Linhardt's heart aches in a way it decidedly shouldn't. "Caspar-" 

"No," Caspar says, and wipes at his eyes. "'Sfine. I'll be fine." 

"Caspar," Linhardt tries again. "You know my switching classes has nothing to do with you, right?" 

Caspar doesn't respond, just hiccups again, silent tears streaming down his face. 

"If anything," Linhardt continues, and he wants desperately to reach out, to hold Caspar the way he does when it storms, but the table is too wide and the distance too much. "If anything, it's mostly because more students in the Golden Deer have crests. Did you ever think about that?" 

Caspar blinks. Slowly, sniffling, he shakes his head. 

"Well, think about it," Linhardt says, the half-truth coming to him as easy as air, "Crests  _ are  _ my only interest, right? Wouldn't it make sense for me to learn something that I'm actually interested in?" 

Caspar frowns. "I guess." 

"There, you see? Everything's alright." Linhardt offers Caspar a small, slow smile. "It wasn't because of you, Caspar. I promise." 

It seems to placate him for the moment, at least. Linhardt's never understood how Caspar can bear to break into the widest grin moments after crying, but it's welcome, all the same. 

"You can still come to my room when it storms," Linhardt promises. "It's not as though I'm going away." 

"Okay, yeah!" Caspar says, and while it's not his normal level of enthusiasm, it's close. "It's not gonna be too bad at all! You can see your crests and shit, and I can make new friends for class!" 

Linhardt smiles. 

"And after we graduate, it won't matter what class we're in!" Caspar continues, voice getting louder. "We'll be able to hang out every day! I can come visit Hevring whenever I want!" His voice softens. "It'll all be okay." 

Linhardt stretches forward, placing a hand on top of Caspar's on the other side of the table. "It'll all be okay," he agrees. "Now help me carry my books back to my room, won't you?" 

Caspar jumps up eagerly, but before Linhardt can stand, he's being tackled back into his chair with a hug. 

"Love you, Linny." He can barely make out Caspar's words, muffled wetly with his tears into Linhardt's shoulder. 

He pats Caspar on the back. "Yes, yes, I love you too. Nothing's gonna happen that would keep us apart. You know that, right?" 

"I know," Caspar says, and balances Linhardt's entire stack of books in his arms. "I know." 

Six moons later, the continent goes to war.

* * *

Linhardt wasn’t invited to the Professor’s Rite in the Holy Tomb. This suits him just fine. He’s never been interested in any of the religious aspects of the Church of Seiros - and it’s not as though the Professor is going to get another crest or anything that interesting. 

He is very, very wrong. 

He wakes up with a start, only vaguely registering the running feet in the hallways, screaming through his open window. He wonders, for a moment, if he’s still dreaming. 

This isn’t a dream, though, and when he moves his curtains aside, the courtyard is on fire. 

That’s all good and well, he thinks, but surely it isn’t a good enough reason to wake him from his nap. 

The world feels different when he wakes up again. There's a sense of something in the air, as though the entire monastery is suffering from a case of vertigo, and what once was routine is now sharper and too in focus. 

He finds Caspar in the Dining Hall, staring down at his plate, head in his hands. 

“Caspar?”

A look of relief floods over Caspar’s face. “Lin!” 

Linhardt sits down hard across from him. “What’s…” he waves a hand around the room, at all the people whispering in hushed voices, at the furtive glances directed at the two of them, at Ferdinand and Bernadetta sitting at a far table. 

“I thought you had already gone,” Caspar blurts. “I thought- I don’t know. I thought-” 

“Gone? Gone where?” Linhardt stifles a yawn behind his house. “Is this about the fire in the courtyard? Those are rather common when people get into fights, you know; it’s no reason for everyone to be acting all strange.” 

Caspar stares at him as though he’s idiotic for a moment, and it’s such a change from his usual expression that Linhardt almost laughs. 

“I’ve been asleep,” Linhardt adds. 

“Oh!” Caspar grins at that. His face drops, though, voice lowering as much as Caspar can manage as he leans across the table. “Did you not… hear?”

Linhardt shakes his head.

Caspar explains, then, how Edelgard crashed the Rite of the Holy Tomb with an entire army, about how nearly the entire Golden Deer class is in the infirmary, about how there’s talks of the continent going to war, with expectations of an official declaration from the Empire in the next week.

And what the hell is Linhardt supposed to say to that?

It turns out, what he does say, is “What?”

Caspar only nods, hair flopping across his forehead. 

“People are leaving?” It seems to be the only thing Linhardt can concentrate on, the idea that people are just… leaving school. The only thing waiting for him at the end of this year is a mountain of paperwork and a life of boredom at House Hevring. 

“Yeah,” Caspar says. He seems to realize that there’s a plate of food in front of him, and begins shoveling it none too gently into his mouth, speaking around it even when Linhardt grimaces. “Hubert left with Edelgard, obviously, and I know Dorothea’s vanished, but things are really weird right now so I don’t know?” He hesitates, stares down at the table, then looks back up at Linhardt. “She told me I could control my own battalion if I wanted. In the army. Edelgard, I mean. Which is nuts!” 

Linhardt blinks.  _ Not nuts,  _ he wants to say.  _ Smart. You’re marvelous on the battlefield. _

He doesn’t say that, though. He merely stares at Caspar, at the way his eyes sparkle just at the thought, the peach sorbet in front of him sweating out a ring of condensation on the wooden table below them. “Are you going to accept?” 

“Dunno,” Caspar says, and shrugs. “I bet my dad wants me to.”

Linhardt is sure he does. “That’s to be expected, though.” 

Caspar hums. His spoon dips back into the sorbet that’s quickly turning to peach slice soup. “Are you-” the tips of his ears are red, Linhardt notes, a strange thrill going through him at that, “I mean, would you join Edelgard’s army, if she asked?” 

Linhardt considers this, frowning. “My father would want me to.” 

“Yeah, probably.”

“I’ve never really done what my father wants me to do.” 

It’s as much of an answer he can give. Linhardt has never been one to decide things abruptly. Part of it may be that he hates surprises; another part of it is the fact that everything seems to be happening so fast, suddenly. 

Caspar, the general in an army?

Linhardt, the same? 

He watches Caspar across the table, chin propped on his hand. If there was one reason why he would want to go, it’s this. He’s lived his life following Caspar, more or less, save for when he switched to the Golden Deer class. 

“You’re thinking too hard,” Caspar says. 

“Hm?” 

“Your face,” Caspar gestures with his spoon. “It’s all,” he scrunches up his nose, “Think-y.” 

“Think-y?”

“Yeah, duh. Like you’re thinking too much.” 

“These are times meant for thinking.” 

Caspar sticks out his tongue. “More like times meant for fighting, right?”

Linhardt’s lips purse into a frown. “I’ve never enjoyed fighting, Caspar.” 

What more is there to say but that?

* * *

A month later, Linhardt wakes up to a pounding on his door.

“Linhardt! Get the fuck out of bed!” 

Ah, wonderful. Why did it have to be her?

“I’m coming in on the count of three!” 

She would. She has before. Linhardt weighs his options. 

“One!” 

He could get up, answer the door. Maybe make Leonie happy for once. Or he could stay in bed. Maybe if he did, Leonie would offer to carry him to whatever class they’re having. Boring. 

“Two!” 

Yes, he thinks he’ll stay here. He doesn’t much feel like walking to the classroom, anyway, and Leonie is always much easier to get along when she’s a healthy dose of pissed off. 

“Three!” 

It sure is a good thing the dorm doors don’t have locks, because Linhardt is sure his would have been split apart many times over with how many times Leonie opens his door with a roundhouse kick. He looks up blearily from his bed. 

“Seriously, Linhardt, We’re not fucking around.” 

Well, that is strange. Leonie is never this armed when she comes to wake him. 

“Mm?”

“Edelgard and her weirdo attacked Rhea and Professor Byleth in the Holy Tomb. We need to get the fuck out of here.” 

Linhardt blinks. “What?” He sits up, though, swinging his feet into the shoes at the foot of his bed and standing. 

“The Monastery is under siege, Linhardt, how many times do I have to tell you? We’re reconvening outside of town. Let’s move.” 

They’re passing the dining hall, Linhardt still struggling to button his coat as Leonie pulls him through the crowds of soldiers and students alike, when Linhardt freezes. 

“Caspar,” he says. 

“What?” asks Leonie. 

“Caspar. Where’s Caspar? Did he make it out?” Linhardt turns around. 

Leonie grabs his wrist. “I don’t know, Linhardt. He’s probably with Edelgard, but we need to  _ move. _ ”

Linhardt tugs, but Leonie is a rock separating the stream of people, her hand an iron shackle around Linhardt’s wrist. “I can’t just leave him.” 

“Yes, you can.” 

“I-” And goddess, he’s too tired for this. His brain feels foggy, exhausted, the whisper of sleep calling to him even now. “Leonie, I can’t just-”

“Linhardt. We’re going.” Leonie’s voice softens. “He’ll be alright, okay? He’s gonna make it out.” 

Linhardt swallows. 

He has no choice but to believe her.

* * *

Dear Caspar,

I am not going to send this letter. See, if I put that at the beginning, there is no way I can do so without dealing with quite a bit of embarrassment. 

So I speak it into existence now. 

I am not going to send this letter. 

It has been a little less than a year since I’ve seen you last. I’ve heard you are stationed in Enbarr. My father goes there, often. 

I have had to resist the urge to ask him if he’s seen you. 

My life is so slow, so abysmally dull now, that the continent hardly seems at war. I spend my days basking in the gardens at the Hevring Estate, reading the rather dreadful selection of textbooks and storybooks from the library and eating steamed buns from the kitchens. 

It’s the life I’d wanted for myself before, but now, something seems missing. 

I wonder if that something is you. 

From, 

Linhardt. 

-

Dear Linhardt,

Im stationed near house hevring. are you in town? haven’t heard from you in a year. hope your well. I know I can’t come visit. that’s ok. don’t read to much. your head is already big enough

Frum,

Leonie Pinelli 

-

Dear Leonie, 

I am unsure if this will reach the inn in time - I hope it does. How have you been? I ask only because I have heard the stories; I am unsure if they are true. If so, I ask that you abstain from the copious amounts of alcohol. There is a war going on, you know.

Ha. I joke. 

I am doing alright. I am reading quite a lot, although I have finished every book in the Hevring Estate twice over by now. Things are rather dreary here. It seems as though you are the one between the two of us who is seeing all the action nowadays. 

Sending love. Ugh. Never mind. Sending tolerance. 

It’s spelled ‘From,’

Linhardt

-

Dear Caspar, 

I am not going to send this letter. 

There was a fight in the town square today. I was allowed to leave the estate to pick up more books; and one of the fighters had blue hair. 

For a moment, I thought they were you. 

They weren’t, though, and that made me quite a bit sadder than I thought it would. Strange. 

I got my books and went home, but after that, all I could do was lay in bed and watch the shadows across the ceiling until afternoon faded to evening and evening to night. 

Oh, and did you know? I’ve moved on from crests. I am much more into horticulture now. I have a small, yet tidy garden in my windowsill. I am growing flowers right now, but I hope to plant basil and tomatoes in the fall. Did you know that there are several different kinds of soil? And that plants can respond to music?

Fascinating. 

From, 

Linhardt

-

Linhardt,

Where the fuck have you been? And don’t even start - I’m eighteen, now, so I can swear as much as I want. Don’t even try with the fact that you’re stuck at your estate; I am, too, and I’m still making time in my very busy day to send you a letter. 

Anyway. Is life as boring for you as it is for me right now? I always knew I would have to run all this government shit when I grew up, but there’s a war going on! And I’m stuck in Ordelia trying to appease my parents that I’m not going to die quite yet. 

Not that you care about all that, huh? Are you gonna ask about my crests? I bet you will. If you do, please at least send some gold. You should pay me for my services. 

See you later, 

Lysithea von Ordelia

-

Dearest Lysithea, 

Thank you, for that lovingly succinct introduction to your letter. Perhaps if I had been drinking tea, I would have spit it out in response to your completely unexpected profanity. An adult, indeed. 

Yes, my life is quite boring. At least you get to assist your parents. 

Actually, that’s worse. I quite enjoy being able to spend my own time with myself. Please include a cipher in your next letter if you need help. 

I will have you know that I no longer care about your crests. Did you know that the tunnels beneath Garreg Mach Monastery were built after the original grounds were constructed? Did you even know that the tunnels existed?

I’ve grown much more interested in how and when buildings are built. If you have any books on architecture at House Ordelia, I implore you to send them with your next letter. I will read them promptly and then return. 

Best Wishes, 

Linhardt

-

Dear Caspar, 

I am not going to send this letter. 

I miss you. 

I had to get that much out of the way first. I have heard stories of your prowess on the battlefield. Have you grown? How tall? I remember, even back at the Academy, you were so strong that you could lift me off my feet. Of course, I would often complain until you put me back down, but that is beside the point. 

I miss you. 

I know you’ve always enjoyed fighting. I’m glad you have a cause to fight for. I am neither of those things. I wonder if this is how we were always going to end up. You, on the battlefield, carving your way forward with fists blazing. Me, at home, reading and writing and sleeping and being a familial disappointment. Too intrinsically different to stick together after our school days have ended. 

I miss you. 

I don’t like to think about what will happen if this war ever ends. I don’t like to think about the future at all. Part of me hopes that we never do see each other again. The other part of me knows that that won’t be the case. Our fates seem to be intertwined tighter than any war. 

I miss you. 

Love,

Linhardt

* * *

A pile of bodies and the stench of blood and death. 

These are the things Linhardt notes from his return to Garreg Mach. 

He supposes he should be thankful that it’s nobody he knows, but really, how long can that last? 

His former classmates talk of a turning point. Linhardt sits in the back of the room, trying not to fall asleep. He’s so tired. He’ll never understand how people can still have the energy to talk, much less strategize, after a battle. Claude’s ambitions have long been strong, though, and they only seem to have increased in intensity in the last five years. 

That month, they fight Caspar’s uncle. Linhardt watches Hilda strike him down with one hit to the throat.

He looks away. He tries not to think about it. He decides he needs a nap.

Linhardt naps. 

He has never felt any great love for the Empire. Then again, he’s never felt any great love for much of anything, but he supposes there is always a hint of sorrow when it comes to destroying all that was once familiar. 

That hint of sorrow turns to a pang when he watches Bernadetta fall during the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Linhardt’s not the one who does it, but he recognizes Bernadetta's scream, the familiarity of it engulfing him in memories of greenhouse trips and library scares. 

Linhardt, selfishly, thinks of Caspar.

When the Professor comes to him, a serious look on their face and news of exactly who is stationed on Fort Merceus in their hand, Linhardt never stops.

* * *

Fort Merceus has earned its title. It looms above Linhardt, casting shadows across the Alliance Army clad in their Empire armor. 

Linhardt had asked, pleaded, even, to be left out of this month’s expedition. But now, here he is, Leonie and Lysithea on either side, trying to get his eyes to focus on the ground in front of him. 

Battle Time. It’s what Caspar had named it all those years ago, when he first saw how Linhardt fades during battle. It makes it hard for him to focus, hard for him to see or hear anything except for the sound of his own breathing. He’s gotten used to it over the years, surely, but even now, it plagues him, threatening to take over. 

They’re waved through the initial entrance with very little hassle, and Linhardt begins to wonder if Claude’s plan will work, this time, and they can get in and out without him having to see Caspar, without having to face the startlingly clear idea of what a fight between them would entail.

That’s when the Death Knight appears. 

Things go to hell quickly after that, and Linhardt enters battle time, nothing in front of him except for enemies and the hint of allies at his side. 

He’s healing Ignatz from across the battlefield when he sees it. Blue hair. Brown and gray armor.  He’s hoping he’s mistaken when Caspar lets out a battle cry, charging their army head on. 

“Caspar!” Linhardt calls his name before he can stop himself, a burst of wind erupting from his hands on instinct, blowing Caspar back. Wait. Fuck. He pushes forward, dodging enemies and allies alike as he waves his battalion back. 

Well. This certainly was not his plan. Linhardt had decidedly  _ not _ thought about what he would do if he ever saw Caspar in battle, but it’s safe to say that rushing towards Caspar like two lovers reuniting on a honeymoon was not it. 

“Linhardt?!” Caspar is frozen in front of a pillar, clutching his axe. 

“Caspar.” And then Caspar’s in front of him, and Linhardt is skidding to a stop, trying to catch his breath. 

“Linhardt, what the fuck? I thought I recognized your wind spell. What the fuck? Why are you here? What the fuck?” Each curse is louder than the first. He doesn’t seem too angry, at least, more bewildered than anything, but Linhardt knows firsthand how quickly that can change when Caspar’s involved. 

“Caspar.” The name flows off of Linhardt’s tongue as though he’s been saying it every day for the past five years, as though they never parted. He remembers, then, the letters tucked underneath his mattress back at the Monastery. “I’m here with the Professor.” 

Caspar’s eyes narrow. “You’re wearing an Empire helmet.” 

Linhardt takes the helmet off. “Claude’s idea.” 

“You’re-” And there’s the anger Linhardt was expecting. “You’re with them?” His voice cracks.

“You’re with Edelgard.” 

“Edelgard’s our  _ friend _ ,” scoffs Caspar.

“And Claude’s  _ my _ friend.” This all feels terribly grade school. Linhardt doesn’t recall bickering with Caspar like this since they were young. They’re children on the playground again, arguing over every little thing. 

“Do you even care about this war?” asks Caspar. 

“Obviously not. Do you?”

“Duh!” 

“What?” It’s not the answer Linhardt was expecting. Caspar’s always been someone who fights simply for being in the thick of it, for the thrill that Linhardt’s never quite understood. 

“Um, yeah?” Caspar sounds strangely sheepish, now, scratching the back of his neck. “Edelgard’s smart, like, way smarter than me, and her plan sounds like it could actually work. It’s not just the fighting anymore.” 

Even still, the fighting rages on around them. 

“Oh,” Linhardt says. “You’ve grown up.” 

“So have you!” Caspar gestures emphatically.

Linhardt’s heart hurts. Caspar’s taller now, even. It makes Linhardt feel as though he’s simply been wasting his days away at House Hevring, while Caspar has been out growing. 

“Wait-” Caspar says, then hits his forehead. “Fuck! You’re on the opposite side.” He raises his axe. 

Linhardt freezes. He doesn’t form a spell, though, his hands remaining at his side. “Caspar.” 

Caspar blinks. His face steels. “I-”

“Just- make it quick,” Linhardt swallows. He drops to his knees. His heart falls from his chest. “I won’t stop you.” How could he, even if he wanted to? Caspar’s always been the stronger one. Always had faster reflexes. Always cared about justice. 

And isn't Linhardt's death justified? If not justified, then at least not excessive. 

He can't look at Caspar. All he can do is stare at the dirty, blood spattered ground between them, at the toe of Caspar's boot, scuffing against the ground. 

"Linhardt, I- Shit!" 

Linhardt flinches, expecting a death blow. Instead, though, he feels the warm splatter of blood landing on his back and Caspar crouching above him. 

"Caspar?" he asks, a note of hysteria rising in his throat. "Caspar?" 

Caspar's knees hit the ground. 

"Caspar?!" 

Caspar takes in a great, heaving breath, eyes wide. "I thought- Shit- They were getting too close- I-"

Linhardt turns to see an Empire soldier, lying on the ground behind him, their sword falling out of their hand with a clang. 

It takes him nearly a minute to realize that Caspar's uninjured, that the blood on his face is not his own. Linhardt's hands shake. "Caspar," he says again, and it's the only word he can grasp while his ears are ringing so terribly. 

"I'm not hurt," Caspar says. "Linhardt, stop. I'm not hurt." He covers Linhardt's hands, still forming heal spells, with his own. 

"Caapar-" Oh, that's strange. When did he start hyperventilating? "I thought- And all the blood-" 

"It's not mine," Caspar says. He hasn't let go of Linhardt's hands. 

"You were going to kill me." 

Caspar says nothing, pulling Linhardt in towards his chest. 

Linhardt's entire body shakes. "You were going to kill me, and then I'd be dead, and all the blood, and-" He forces himself to swallow. "You were going to  _ kill me _ ." 

"I couldn't," Caspar says, voice hoarse. "I could never- Oh, Linhardt." 

Linhardt isn't sure when they started kissing. All he knows is this: Caspar's lips are rough, the callouses on his fingers rougher. The battle wages on around them, heedless of the way Caspar drops his axe and hauls Linhardt closer, out of the thick of it. Their teeth clack together. Caspar tastes of dirt and blood and  _ Caspar _ .

It's the best kiss Linhardt has ever had. 

"Caspar," he says once they part. 

"Let's leave," Caspar says. "I want- I want this world Edelgard is trying to create. But not if it means you gotta die." 

"Leave…?" Linhardt's voice croaks. He can't even begin to think about everything else Caspar has said. 

Caspar cracks a smile. "Leave," he confirms. "You and me. I can find fights somewhere else, dontcha think?" 

He sounds so much like the old Caspar for a moment that Linhardt feels like crying again. 

"I know someone in Dagda," he says numbly instead. 

"Of course you do," Caspar says. He starts to laugh, then stops, as though remembering where they are. 

"Leaving."

"Yup." Caspar nods once, decisive. 

Linhardt closes his eyes. He forces himself to take deep breaths. Leaving. With Caspar. Away from the war. Away from everything. 

He opens his eyes. "Let's go."

* * *

**_Two Weeks Later_ **

* * *

They never promised to be together forever. Caspar was certain that they wouldn't be, after Linhardt had left and stayed gone. 

Now, though, forever is a possibility. Caspar knows he wants it. He thinks Linhardt does, too. 

He watches from a few steps back as Linhardt stands at the helm of the small passenger boat, staring into the water as though it holds secrets. Then again, maybe it does. Caspar wouldn't know otherwise. 

As though Linhardt can feel his gaze, he looks up. His hair whips through the wind. His eyes crinkle when he smiles. 

Caspar steps forward. 

"Did you know," Linhardt drawls. Oh, how Caspar missed that drawl, "that there are certain florescent miniscule sea creatures that can turn entire beaches red?" 

"No," Caspar says honestly. He blinks. Linhardt returns the smile he gives him. "But I'd love if you could tell me more."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come talk to us on twitter @bizzybee429 and @gghero_, and if you'd like to support the fic, there's a tweet supporting it [here](https://twitter.com/bizzybee429/status/1331239524974948353?s=20). Marty's finished piece of art can be found [here](https://twitter.com/gghero_/status/1331241341381193729?s=20).


End file.
